Sixty-Three Percent Theoretical
by MaybeIfI
Summary: "Frederick took a long pull of wine and decided that being called Freddie by his least favourite dragon was not the hill he was prepared to die on. He composed himself to speak to his favourite sister." CHAPTER TWO: CHESS
1. Chapter 1

NOTE- Just finished the Heartstriker series. Sequels are imminent. Rachel Aaron and I will have to race.

SIXTY-THREE PERCENT THEORETICAL

* * *

CHAPTER ONE- THE THIRTEENTH BIRTHDAY

It should be known that Bob handed over all duties of care to Felicity's family as soon as he was able.

It was just that the whelp was accustomed to being tucked into bed a particular way. There was a spot between her wings that needed to be pressed—not rubbed, pressed, solidly until her breathing slowed. She would wake up if you left the room too quickly. She would claw at her dreams, and fingers. Frederick did not complain, ever, but everyone noticed the way his work slowed, and how he winced at tasks that required finesse.

The baby's habit of snapping her jaws was deeply ingrained. She liked to attack hair, of which Bob had plenty and in great length. Chelsie, with crew cut still firmly in shape, was at risk of losing her ears.

And little Felicity stared at things, unblinking, for longer than what she should. Her father cheerfully noted his daughter's pensive disposition. He tried to compare the long spells of stillness to meditation. He insisted it indicated a highly active mind.

Her mother snorted, and said her daughter was staring at things that weren't there yet.

"You're wrong," said Bob. "She won't see the future until she's thirteen."

Thirteen, the magic year. The year of every seer's first vision, the vision of their death. A gloomy birthday present from the oldest seer, the construct Black Reach.

"And that's when you'll see me next, I think," said Bob, after a terse few weeks of joint parenting.

Chelsie's head had moved faster than the eye could follow. "You're leaving?"

Her brother smiled very gently. "Don't pretend to be disappointed."

Felicity would have thirteen years without visions. Her parents would have thirteen years to enjoy raising a normal dragon. And Bob had things to do.

"Like what?" Frederick demanded.

"Stuff," said Bob, and enjoyed Frederick's glare.

He gave them his cell phone number and said to call if any 'seer stuff' came up. "And make sure she learns how to play chess," he added on his way out the door.

"Are you going to use chess analogies to teach her about being a seer?" Chelsie asked.

Bob paused. "No," he said finally. "It's for…other stuff."

Chelsie snorted again. "You're such a dork."

Bob smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "I won't call."

Chelsie's face went still. Then, very softly, she said, "Thank you."

* * *

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER

The day was tense.

Chelsie felt bad about that. They had tried not to build it up. Or rather, they had tried to build it up in the way birthdays ought to be. Presents to be anticipated, friends to be seen, surprises to be enjoyed.

Felicity's birthday was widely regarded to be the happiest day of the year for the Qilin's family. Xian's joy on every anniversary of his daughter's birth was so fierce that the sun would rise in ultraviolet clouds and set on summer storms, thunder rolling over the mountains like a drum. Felicity's first love was warm summer rain.

This year was no different. But Chelsie's heart sank as she joined her daughter on the roof to watch the sunrise. Felicity's eyes were shadowed and sore, but her back was as straight and rigid as if struck by lightning. She had not slept. No chance for visions.

"Are you nervous?" Chelsie asked, running her fingers through her daughter's hair.

"I can't wait," said Felicity. "And I'm making it worse."

They rushed through the day. Felicity, already a stoic child, glared at each gift and surprise as if imbuing each experience with her complete focus would make the night come faster.

Chelsie had thought about calling Bob the night before. But she couldn't bring herself to hasten his return. She couldn't deny she hated inviting him back.

She satisfied herself by writing a small, separate card for Felicity. She wrote Bob's number in it with a short note saying what it was for. When Felicity found it, she stowed it quickly in the pocket of her new jacket (a gift from Frederick, who doted on his youngest sister). When she thought no one was looking, she would slip her fingers in to worry at the corners of the paper.

Chelsie tucked her youngest in bed as the sky banged ferocious outside.

"Nothing changes after tonight," she said.

Felicity glared at her, puzzled. "Mom, _everything_ changes after tonight."

"Not really," said Chelsie, pressing kisses against her daughter's forehead. "You're still mine. Your father and I are still here. We love you more than anything."

She returned to her own bedroom and lay down with Xian. They faced each other in the dark, listening.

In the morning, Chelsie found her youngest sat upright in bed, clutching the card with Bob's number on it. She stared at nothing in a way she hadn't since infancy.

She had not slept. No chance for visions.

* * *

"Is there any chance she did actually have a vision and is just…having a hard time remembering it?"

Chelsie paced the halls, phone in hand.

"I have dreams I don't remember. Everybody does. Couldn't she have—-"

"Chelsie, if Felicity had had a vision last night, you'd know it," said Bob over the line. His voice crackled with the age of his Nokia phone. "Trust me."

"Then maybe we got the day wrong," Chelsie continued doggedly. "I wasn't there when she was hatched, so I couldn't say for sure the day."

"I was there the day she was hatched. Because I hatched her. And I know what day I hatched her. Because I _picked it very carefully_."

"Then maybe you got it wrong!" Chelsie snapped. "Or maybe we're—is there any chance we were just…wrong about this? Maybe she's not…"

Chelsie glared at the empty hallway surrounding her suspiciously. Frederick had taken his sister out for a flight to clear her head. Or rather, Felicity had flown out of the house at a furious pace, and Frederick was doing his best to keep up with her.

"Chelsie," said Bob, and his voice sounded weary. "Has Svena called you to crow about one of her brats having a vision?"

"Don't call them brats," Chelsie hissed. "We've got a peace treaty with those filthy two-faced ice vipers."

"So she hasn't. And those were the only other dragons born on the same day. Right after the death of the last female seer."

"Then why hasn't Felicity had her vision?" Chelsie snapped.

"It's not something she has," said Bob. "It's something that gets sent to her. Maybe the Black Reach screwed up the time difference?"

"You think an immortal, omniscient, super-intelligent construct got the _time difference wrong_?"

* * *

"Oh, the death vision? On the thirteenth birthday? Well, we're not really doing that anymore, are we?"

Bob blinked at the Black Reach stupidly. "What."

The Black Reach shrugged as best he could from his recliner. "Well, we used to be heading quite directly towards an impending doom, weren't we? And you seers were contributing rather directly to it, weren't you?"

Bob hissed his reluctant agreement.

"But we're past that now. There's no horrible future to warn you lot off from. So there was no reason to send the little thing her death-vision." The Black Reach tilted down his sunglasses. "I can't believe you're even asking me this, it should have been self-evident."

* * *

"So that's on me, really," said Bob when he called Chelsie back. "I was riding on thousands of years of tradition, and I kind of forgot we completely revolutionized that system."

"Brohomir, my daughter is DEVASTATED," Chelsie screamed at the phone her devoted husband was protecting from her claws.

"Aw, she's got nothing to worry about!" Bob drawled. "The death vision sucked, she's better off without it. She'll still have real visions. Organic things she'll dream up all by herself!"

"WHEN?"

Bob shrugged. Then he remember he was speaking to his sister on the phone, so he said, "I don't know."

* * *

The doorbell rang like a normal doorbell.

Felicity wasn't sure why she thought the doorbell was going to be special. Her mother might have called it intuition, of which she seemed to believe her daughter had plenty. Her father might have said something about his daughter's wonderful ability to see the best and most fantastic potential in everything.

Felicity suspected herself of being gullible and having siblings who enjoyed gossip.

She had not slept in two weeks. In that way, the terrible start to her career as a seer felt self-inflicted. Nerves were not something Felicity was accustomed to. She had been filled with absolute certainty in all things since before she could speak. She believed in things, hard, until she didn't, and never in her mind to any contradiction.

A moment ago, Felicity believed that if she traced the number her mother had given her, flew several miles over New Mexico and went door to door demanding to know the identity of each inhabitant, she would find her famed Uncle Brohomir, last Great Seer of this plane, and he would speak five words and fix everything.

Now, having rung the final doorbell once and received no answer, Felicity believed that Brohomir was a concept rather than a dragon—not a cool, functioning, speaking concept like the Black Reach, but a mythical concept like Santa Claus or the Super-tooth Dragon who came to yank fangs out of the mouths of dragons who didn't brush enough, _thanks a lot Frederick_ —and that this was an elaborate thirteenth birthday lesson from her family, most probably her father, about trusting her instincts, or not worrying about the visions, or something.

That she had been raised feasting on the delicious infamy of Bob's exploits was irrelevant. The ghost of a warm hand pressing between her wings meant nothing. If Bob wasn't answering this door, then he did not exist.

And yet…

She decided to try another tactic.

"So, I think this is your house?" Felicity tried to yell. Felicity was not good at yelling. "Pretty sure it's your house. Wish I could say I knew it was your house because I like, dreamed it, but I think we both know that hasn't happened yet. I used the internet to find you. So…you know. Sorry."

The door stared back, implacable.

Felicity's mouth twisted. "Look, I know you had some rule about not seeing me before I had any visions, but I can't sleep and everything _sucks_ right now and I am asking for your _help—-_ "

Suddenly the door awoke with the sound of several locks being snapped and unlatched as quickly as possible

"Lesson one," A voice called over the noise, "if you're going to get stuck in this future-minding business, you need to know that you are NEVER, under ANY obligation WHATSOEVER—-"

The door swung open.

"—to obey rules that _don't exist_ ," Bob finished breathlessly. "My heart, I'm very happy to see you."

Felicity stared at her uncle until his breathing slowed.

"My bedroom is at the back of the house," He added nervously. "It takes a while to get to the door. I don't, uh, anticipate visits the way I used to."

Felicity said nothing. A pigeon fluttered into view and landed on Bob's shoulder. He reached up to touch its head, crossing his arm over himself in a way that came across defensive.

"I don't believe I've wished you happy birthday yet, properly," he said. "I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry."

"Oh," Felicity breathed. "I _remember_ you."


	2. Chapter 2

SIXTY-THREE PERCENT THEORETICAL

* * *

CHAPTER 2: CHESS

Felicity had not changed.

She was taller, and could speak, of course. She no longer leaped on him in greeting. He couldn't imagine this older version of Felicity chasing rats.

But she snapped her jaws absentmindedly while she thought about what to say. She reached, on instinct, to worry at the ends of Bob's hair when she forgot to be polite. She lost focus while he spoke, often, distracted into new trains of thought introduced by the very things he was telling her, and she stared at odd spots of the kitchen.

Bob breathed easy for the first time in thirteen years. His girl hadn't changed.

When she listened, she drank deep of everything he said, absorbing information like a sponge, as if her brain was parched.

Don't rush, he wanted to tell her. You'll feel plenty full soon.

If there was to be no death vision, she wanted to know when the first one would come, the first real one? How long did it take him to dream up more, after the death vision had passed?

"I don't remember," Bob said honestly, and swam in relief when she didn't look disappointed in him.

They were eating ice cream, which Bob kept in large quantities and multi-various flavours.

"What about the other seers?" Felicity pressed around a mouthful of mint chip.

Bob dug into his rocky road. "Seers don't usually compare notes, my heart. I think we're the first."

"Is it against the rules?"

Bob smiled. "There are no rules. Don't make it harder than it has to be."

He waited patiently as Felicity glared at her ice cream, deep in thought. When she looked up, she said, "Can I stay here tonight? I already know I'm not going to sleep, and I don't want to fly home right now."

"I have no problem with that," said Bob. "What about your mother?"

Felicity stared at him. "I should probably call her," she said slowly.

"Oh dear," said Bob, grinning. "Yes, you should. Although I should warn you, I don't have a TV."

Felicity shrugged as Bob pulled out his ancient Nokia. "It'd just be noise."

"Well, noise I can provide," said Bob. "Plenty of classical music to introduce you to. Or I could show you around the area…or we could play chess," He added casually, dialling Chelsie's home number from memory. "Do you like chess?"

And, because nothing in life could be perfect, Felicity wrinkled her nose in disgust.

* * *

The F-clutch remained the F-clutch, despite everything.

The plot-twist of their father's heritage had been greeted by the draconic community with panic, and then an effusive flow of attempts to make up for what was politely called 'lost time'.

The siblings enjoyed their new privileges. They accepted the praise. The respect was treasured.

But secretly each felt that if nothing else, the advantage of their ill-fated six hundred years was that they had learned to be practical.

So they took the newly gifted house in the California valley, and rejected the servants offered in the bargain. They itemized the gifts and put most of them away. They raised Felicity to use her hands and her mind, and they politely but firmly limited her interactions with the Heartstriker clan.

They anticipated the day they would have to deal with Bob's presence in their family again with resentment.

But in the meantime, they took up new projects. Armed to the fangs with skills enough to keep an empire running, and finally left alone with the only dragons they genuinely liked, they kept to their own society and found plenty of joy. The Qilin's house was a high-functioning utopia of new hobbies and intellectual pursuits.

Chelsie, for example, had not consumed alcohol since she had first courted the most important dragon in China. But since embarking upon the journey of rearing of a child, Chelsie had endeavored to learn the art of getting drunk.

Her eldest son, Frederick, had dutifully pledged solidarity to her cause. He had rebranded the best parts of his former service to Bethesda—his instinct for presentation, his eye for detail, his acidic wit—to become a leading influence in the global fashion industry. The only skill he lacked in this new world was the ability to drink large quantities of alcohol without falling apart.

So Frederick and his mother practiced together.

On this night, the night Felicity finally disappeared to hunt her elusive uncle-mentor, the pair worked their way through three bottles of Chardonnay—learning to drink was a slow process, and neither mother nor son had the head for heavier stuff.

The phone was in Chelsie's hand when it rang.

"Bob! Is Felicity with you? She disappeared hours ago, but we assumed—-"

The phone crackled over her. "Chelsie, I said teach Felicity to play chess, not teach her to **_hate_** chess!"

Giddy, Chelsie laughed. "So she's alright?"

"Chelsie, she hates chess. How can my niece hate chess?"

Chelsie, who had spent her youngest child's early days taking deep breaths and thinking about forgiveness, dropped her concerns and prepared to assure her older brother that everything was going to be fine.

But Frederick, who took after his grandmother and had never forgiven anyone for anything ever in his entire life, snatched the phone from his mother.

"Oh Bob! I'm sorry, did things not go the way you expected? Are you finding that difficult? **_Tell me about it_**."

Bob took a deep breath. He was still getting the hang of surprises. Switching gears did not come naturally to him.

"Frederick."

"Bob?"

"You sound like you know something about this."

Frederick glanced at his mother, who watched him carefully but had not tried to take the phone away yet. "You might recall that raising dragons used to be our job not too long ago."

Frederick took a swig of Chardonnay and waited. When the older dragon said nothing, Frederick continued blithely, "Well, we did as you **_requested_**. Felicity started with a chess tutor when she was three years old, three days a week, two hours at a time," Frederick paused to relish Bob's barely restrained groan of frustration. "And once she was six, we adjusted her schedule to accommodate five lessons a week at an hour and a half each. She formally requested, in writing, to be allowed to never play chess again as a gift for her tenth birthday. I can't imagine why."

"My niece makes formal requests in writing? For her birthday gifts?"

"I'm so sorry we raised a polite young dragon," Frederick snapped. "I certainly hope the chess wasn't important for anything!"

"It's a basic language of strategy! It's useful!"

Chelsie cackled. "Oh my god! He _was_ going to use chess metaphors!"

Frederick stood, torn between childish delight at his mother's drunken amusement, and the undeniable urge to torture Bob. "Well she still learned how to play it, so what's the problem?"

"Frederick," Bob growled. "I've thought this several times over the years but couldn't voice my thoughts in front of our mother: you are a _**menace**."_

Before Frederick could snap that Bethesda was only Bob's mother, Felicity's low little voice cut through over the phone.

"Uncle Bob? Is that Freddie?"

"Yes, my heart," Bob said quickly, voice transformed by affection. "Did you want to speak to him? Let me hand you over…to **_Freddie_**."

Frederick took a long pull of wine and decided that being called Freddie by his least favourite dragon was not the hill he was prepared to die on. He composed himself to speak to his favourite sister.

The little voice came closer to the receiver. "Did I scare Mom?"

Frederick glanced at Chelsie, who was draining her latest glass of wine. "Only a little. We figured out where you'd gone pretty quickly. But let's try leaving a note next time."

"Sorry, I was just really focused…"

"It's alright, Felicity. We," Frederick hesitated, but forced himself to say, "We know how important this is. Do you want to talk to her?"

He passed the phone to Chelsie, who struggled to sit upright on the couch. "Sweetheart? Where did you end up finding him?"

"He's in New Mexico."

Chelsie went very still, and Frederick heard a glass break. "New Mexico? In the um, in the mountains?"

"What? No," Felicity's voice crackled over the phone. "He's in the middle of the desert. Mom, it's so flat out here and the sky is fantastic, it's like a giant bowl over the…"

Frederick stood by while his mother chattered brightly with her youngest. After half an hour and an extracted promise to be careful while flying home, Chelsie hung up. She looked down at her empty glass.

"I don't know why I thought Bob would still be living with Bethesda," She laughed awkwardly. "I know he didn't like it much at Heartstriker Mountain either…" She looked up at her son finally and frowned. "Frederick, your hand?"

Frederick glanced down at the shards of his wine glass still clutched in his fist. "I'll clean that up," He said absently.

* * *

Bob put his phone away with a sigh and looked up at his niece. "Yes, my heart?"

"So," Felicity said thoughtfully, "The chess lessons were **_your_** fault?"

Bob pushed his ice cream bowl aside. "Before we get started on your tragic mis-introduction to the greatest board game ever conceived, can you just clarify: a formal request? In writing?"

Felicity blinked. "Oh, that. Well, everyone asked me to make a list of what I wanted for my birthday…"

"Fine, right—-"

"And I was learning calligraphy…"

"Lovely. Go on—"

"And I liked stencilling at the time, so I was able to make my own stationary. And to be honest, it was the best stencilling I'd ever done, I was really good at it. And it seemed like a waste to do all that for a one-page list, so I created a new page for every item on the list. And I got Daddy to help me with the wording for the Mandarin, and Frieda helped me with the English. The English translation of the Mandarin came out really formal, so I went with it."

Bob stared at his niece.

Felicity glared back, defensive. "They looked really nice. Daddy kept them to show to Nai Nai, and she even liked them and she's not impressed by anything."

"I'd like to see them sometime," Bob said finally. "Listen, Felicity, formal requests in writing…I am not going to deny the potency of that as a power move. I can imagine your parents receiving that stencilled, calligraphically presented request to end the chess lessons. The theatricality of that moment is beautifully on-point."

"Thank you," said Felicity sincerely.

"I just need to know that you know that…in the future. Not yet. But soon. You will not need to submit formal requests. You can just…do things! In fact, you will **_need_** to just do things! Requests won't be necessary!"

Felicity wrinkled her brow. "So I don't have to ask permission to do things?"

"No! I mean…not later, you won't. I mean, listen to your mother…"

"Okay—"

"And your dad, of course…"

"Okay—"

"And…take Frederick with a grain of salt. Look, you'll get the hang of it, just…" Bob raked a hand through his hair as he tried to remember what being thirteen was like. "Just don't get stuck thinking you have to ask all the time. You're going to get to a point where the dragon that knows best is you."

"What about you?" Felicity sat up a little straighter. "Don't I need to listen to you?"

Bob shrugged as casually as he could. "I'd appreciate it if you did."

"But of course I'm going to listen to you," said Felicity, confused. "You're the greatest seer that's ever existed on this plane."

Bob smiled tightly. "I might have been, my heart. I think every seer thinks they're greatest seer at some point. And at some point, for a moment, they are." He clapped abruptly. "Which means you will be too! Which means we have work to do. Which means… ** _chess_**."


End file.
